


Without Borders

by Brumeier



Series: Bite Sized Fic [83]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medical, Established Relationship, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-16 22:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7286923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>LJ Comment Fic for Free For All prompt: <i>Stargate SG-1, Daniel Jackson, not that kind of doctor.</i></p><p>In which Rodney and the AMG group go to a fancy fundraiser, Daniel Jackson gives a speech, and John wonders if he's doing enough as a doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Borders

“I hate wearing this,” Rodney griped, pulling at his collar. 

John batted his hand away. “You look good, leave it alone.”

“No, you look good. I look like a waiter.”

John rolled his eyes. He hadn’t even wanted to come to the charity dinner, but Rodney had insisted that all the AMG partners put in an appearance. Teyla, who was hugely pregnant, kept shooting Rodney death glares that he studiously ignored.

“It’s not too late to make our donation and leave,” John suggested.

“Are you kidding?” Vala grabbed a tray of canapes that was going by. “These things are great! I can’t wait for dinner.”

Rodney wrestled the tray from her and gave it back to the open-mouthed server, but not before Ronon scooped a handful of hors d'oeuvres off of it and stuffed them in his mouth. John stifled a grin. His new colleagues were pretty entertaining.

“Can’t leave now,” Rodney said with a sigh. “We’ve been spotted. Dr. Jackson.”

“Dr. McKay.”

John gave the new guy a once-over. His tux was too tight, showing off muscular arms and a trim figure, and he wore eyeglasses with thick black frames that had medical tape wrapped around the hinge of one arm.

“You are looking well, Daniel,” Teyla said.

Jackson turned a bright grin in her direction. “And you’re glowing! When are you due?”

“Three weeks.” Teyla rubbed her belly with one hand. “I feel certain it is a boy.”

“Well, you _are_ carrying low.”

“That’s an old wives tale and you know it,” Rodney said, pointing an accusatory finger at Jackson.

John decided to step in. “John Sheppard. I’m the new pediatrician at AMG.” He shook hands with Daniel, who gave him a very clinical once-over.

“It’s a pleasure.”

“No, it isn’t.” Rodney tugged John back. “You want money? Fine. But no conscripting my people.”

“Rodney hasn’t eaten yet,” Vala said helpfully.

Jackson nodded. “Stay away from the chicken satay. Lime juice.”

He moved on, glad-handing another group of medical professionals. 

“So who is he?” John asked.

“Renegade doctor,” Rodney said with obvious disdain.

John took that to mean that Jackson was part of MSF, which was the organization hosting the charity benefit. Better known as Doctors Without Borders. It was a worthy cause, one John had briefly considered joining himself.

“I cannot keep standing here,” Teyla said, stretching her back. 

Ronon extended his arm to her, and as a group they headed for their assigned table. John was hoping some food might put Rodney in a better mood, but that plan hit another snag when he saw who they were sharing a table with. John hadn’t known Rodney very long, but even complete strangers probably knew how he felt about dentists.

“Kavanagh. I’m surprised to see you here.” Rodney dropped into a chair, and reached for a glass of water.

“Lemon,” John warned. 

“Wonderful. I should’ve packed a lunch.”

“McKay. Always in such a good humor.” Dr. Kavanagh, DDS (according to his name tag) wore his hair in a regrettable ponytail. “Please do try the water.”

“You must be here for the press,” Rodney shot back. “Everyone knows you don’t part with your money anywhere but at a craps table.”

“Boys!” Teyla said sharply. “That is quite enough.”

She eased herself into a chair with Ronon’s help, and he grabbed another from the neighboring table for Teyla to put her feet on. Her ankles were pretty swollen.

John excused himself to hit up the cash bar, where there was already a line. He nodded at a few doctors he knew, but he definitely needed to get Rodney something to mellow him out. Normally John appreciated Rodney’s fiery passion – particularly in the bedroom – but they were representing AMG tonight and John didn’t want Rodney to cause any trouble.

By the time he got back to the table, juggling three beers, a soda and Rodney’s Jack and Coke, Vala was distracting Kavanagh with the copious amounts of cleavage her short black dress revealed, and Rodney had a plate of stuffed mushrooms that he was tearing into. Ronon was nowhere to be seen.

“Finally.” Rodney downed his drink in one go, looked around guiltily, and then snagged Ronon’s beer. “These ‘shrooms are salty.”

“You can get the next round,” John replied. He plunked himself down in the chair next to Rodney’s.

They had an excellent view of the raised dais where all the charity big-wigs were sitting, ranged out on either side of a podium that had a large screen behind it. Now that John was looking for it, he could see a laptop connected to a projector down in front of the dais, a young woman at the controls. Jackson was headed toward the podium with a determined expression on his face.

“He’s not even waiting till after dinner?” Rodney sounded scandalized. 

But while Jackson tapped on the microphone, and winced when there was a squeal of feedback, waitresses started going around with trays of salad. John suspected Rodney would be much more willing to listen to a speech if he could eat at the same time; how he stayed as fit as he did, with as much as he was always eating, was a mystery.

“Thank you all for coming out tonight,” Jackson said. “Without your support, organizations like _Médecins Sans Frontières_ wouldn’t be able to do the good works they do across the globe.”

“Oh, please,” Rodney muttered.

“I started my medical career as an aide in a nursing facility. Taking care of people at the end of their lives is a worthy vocation, but it can be disheartening as well. As I progressed with my education, I knew I wanted to make a change. I wanted to help people get better, improve, and not just make them comfortable.”

“I hope that Gail Vemody is not here tonight,” Teyla said. “She might take umbrage to her field being so besmirched.”

John didn’t know who that was, but clearly she worked in geriatrics. Jackson was right, though. It was a difficult field of medicine. All doctors – and nurses – had to deal with the death of patients from time to time, but in geriatrics it was the only outcome. You could make nursing home residents comfortable, but they’d never be skipping out the door no matter the quality of care they received.

“When I became a PA,” Jackson continued. “I worked for a medical practice that valued billable hours over people. The doctors spent more time on the golf course than they did with patients. They recommended unnecessary procedures just so they could charge for them, and sought out wealthy clients, instead of reaching out to the local communities that were in greater need.”

“Stop that,” Rodney muttered. He kicked John in the ankle.

“I wasn’t doing anything!”

“You were nodding along. Don’t drink the Kool-Aid, I’m warning you.”

John rolled his eyes. Just because he agreed with Jackson didn’t meant he wanted to sign up with MSF. He was no hero. But he knew a lot of doctors just like the ones Jackson described, who wanted the fancy cars and the big houses more than they wanted to help people. It was one of the reasons he’d agreed to join AMG. He liked having a relationship with his kids and their families. They trusted him to do his best for them because they knew he cared about them. 

“I’m not that kind of doctor,” Jackson said, after taking a quick drink of water. “And so I started volunteering time at the Frasier Shelter for Battered Women. That’s where I met Dr. Sam Carter, and she changed my life forever by introducing me to her MSF team.”

The screen flared to life with a picture of three of the people sitting up on the dais, only they were dressed in camo pants and scrub tops. A woman with short blonde hair was all smiles, sandwiched between a giant dark-skinned man with a dour expression, and an older man wearing a Mets cap. They were standing in a desert somewhere, rocky, arid mountains behind them.

“Dr. Teal’c Jaffa, Dr. Samantha Carter and Dr. Jack O’Neill don’t just provide medical care to individuals. They serve whole communities. And so do I. As part of MSF, we lend our skills to conflict zones, and to areas ravaged by natural disasters, epidemics, malnutrition, and neglect. We provide outpatient consultations, we deliver babies, we treat people for diseases like malaria, cholera and HIV, and carry out all manner of surgical procedures. But that’s not all we do.”

The picture on the screen turned into a slide show, showing the team, and Jackson, repairing roofs, digging wells, and playing with children of varying nationalities.

“We do all of this while battling native fauna (a picture of Carter facing off against a snake), armed military (Middle Eastern soldiers pulling O’Neill out of a med tent), and the elements (Jackson looking half-drowned and up to his knees in mud). But everything we endure is worth it for this.”

Pictures of smiling mothers, and healthy children, and a family waving at the camera.

“I know you can’t drop everything and assist MSF physically. You have families, practices, patients. That’s why we’re here tonight. To ask you to donate the thing we all have plenty of – money. Please give generously. There are families, villages, and countless communities out there that need our help. Thank you.”

There was a lengthy round of applause, which also coincided with the delivery of the main course. Rodney fell on his steak like a starving man, but John just poked at his chicken.

“Don’t let them get to you, Sheppard,” Ronon said. He appeared out of nowhere, and looked suspiciously rumpled. Was that lipstick on his neck? “They have to play up the guilt angle to get bigger donations.”

“I’ve traveled with Doctors Without Borders,” Kavanagh bragged. “Don’t underestimate the importance of good dental health.”

“Oh, really?” Rodney countered. “And where did you go? Iraq? Somalia?”

Kavanagh flushed. “Appalachia. But some of those backwoods hillbillies are –”

Vala knocked her water glass into Kavanagh’s lap. “Oh! How clumsy of me!”

Kavanagh sputtered angrily, pushing his chair back and dabbing at his pants with his napkin. Teyla hid her smile behind her napkin.

“Listen,” Rodney said, leaning close to John and keeping his voice down. “You’re doing important work right here at home. You don’t need to travel to some third-world country to feel like you’re making a difference, okay? You’re important to…uh…the practice. And your pint-sized patients. MSF isn’t for you. You’re not that kind of doctor.”

John fought back a grin of his own. Rodney was right. John was doing exactly what he needed to be doing, with people he genuinely liked and respected. He knew how rare a thing that was.

“But we’re making a big donation, right?”

“The biggest,” Rodney promised. “Now eat your outrageously overpriced dinner.”

If they’d been alone, John would’ve kissed Rodney into next week. Instead, he pressed his knee against Rodney’s under the table and turned his attention back to his chicken pesto. He wasn’t the kind of doctor who was bringing relief to people in war-ravaged countries, but that was okay.

He was doing just fine where he was.


End file.
